Thursday, 12 April 2018


developing a habit
as easy as
falling down.
so i make my bed and
gnaw the inside of my mouth,
lying you myself
that this will ever end.

Monday, 9 April 2018


between the scrub
and the sea
you'll find me.
i come here for the calm,
the medicinal waves
changing the way that i think
from chaos to
a new kind of archetype.
i come here for the salt,
for when my lungs scream
their questions that only
the sky can answer
the salt air soothes and mends.
i come here to be
aware but not hypervigilant,
sedate but not sedated,
contained but not boxed in.
between the scrub
and the sea
you'll find me.


it could have been another woman
but it was the wine.
the effect was the same,
he was absent, vacant,
lost to her.
everything they built
deconstructed slowly,
crumbling with every
dreadful headline
until he was
washed away.

Saturday, 7 April 2018


you show me how strong you are
and i show you i can take it.
there are flaws in our brushstrokes
but still the magic happens.

and i show you i can take it
beading sweat and clenched teeth
but still the magic happens.
there is power in our fragility.

we don't look too closely because
there are flaws in our brushstrokes.
i show you what soft feels like
you show me how strong you are.

while the moon watches.

the moon looks loosely
through the window
while i flirt with danger,
and the drop.
noise turns hollow
and crickets weep
from the pain
of dawn breaking.
i let the last of the darkness
swallow me
as i contemplate
the necessary evil
of revelling in un-wellness.
i find it serves a higher purpose,
a game to scare the shit
out of myself
and roll over into normal.

Friday, 6 April 2018

my superhero.

i wanna channel jane eyre
with the voice of kathryn hepburn.
i'd ride an invisible steed and
together we would map
the bleak landscape.
so wherever there was
a poor orphan child
or some damn selfish bastard
to rescue
we'd be there.

i wanna pull myself up
by my bootstraps
just like jane eyre.
i would still have my moments,
but once the cape goes on
i am a superhero
like jane eyre.

i wanna rise from the ashes
because of jane eyre.
i don't seek redemption
just a choice.
what would jane eyre do?
stay on the bus sista,
ride your own journey.

Wednesday, 4 April 2018

every step.

when she's paying attention
she steps on no cracks
and every tread has purpose.
when she is unwell
her footsteps tell
a different story.
they take tangents
and cross wires
because every tread is
black hole madness.
is useful
only some of the time.
and choice
is a luxury
reserved for others.

Tuesday, 3 April 2018

heart of the matter.

i have something
caught in my throat.
so i drop into a dreamstate
(because this poem is not about me).
and with my right hand
                             my teeth
and over my tongue,
                                my gullet
and touch my fingers on
the heart of the matter,
which is that i am lacking.

Monday, 2 April 2018


each day bleeds onto itself
like the day daddy
sent mummy a love letter
in the shape of a crowbar.

every day hurts
like the way the calipers
clamp to my thighs to support
my broken spine legs.

some day this will end.
like an angel calling from
a very dark place i will be gifted
merciful oblivion.

Sunday, 1 April 2018

corny point.

the aesthetics of fire,
sharp, and to the point.
the symbiosis of touch,
too much.
the chemistry of music
when it hits my brain.
the omnipotence of nature,
naturally, it soothes me.
the openness of the tribe,
in numbers we are strong.

five points fall into one and if i have to choose
i'd choose forward,
to you.

Thursday, 16 November 2017


they met in a land of missed connections
in the year of bad timing.
he came from the clouds or
the mountains, high on expectations
but jangling with tambourine dreams
and too much energy.
she revealed herself one sentence at a time.

he was never still but very deep,
so deep she stuck to the shallows
for fear of drowning. “i’m not used
to travelling such long distances”
she said, making him ache in places
he had been ignoring for a long time too.

the laws of nature are elusive, so
when they danced, they danced to music
with a strong melody line and an
irregular beat. and when he fell apart
she patched him up, but the pieces were
deeply broken, some left behind with
old friends, in pawn shops and in
cemeteries, so she never really found him.

and when it wasn’t easy she grew hard,
falling again into a well of bad habits. while
he searched in vain for a lifeline all he
found were more needles.
there was some suspicion of a demons plot,
but forgetting the rhetoric she tucked him
under a cautious blanket, on the longest night
and pretending the ease of an opera diva
watched the closing credits roll.

Wednesday, 13 September 2017

howl if you must.

take me on that tangent
that you go on,
the one where we mount
trusted steeds
to ride the high streets
shouting "fuck the world!"
and other noble insults.

take me to the place 
where everything is natural,
where we fill up on spinach
and the wonder of the stars,
pitch rocks into unfathomably
deep holes and in nearly
diabolical thinking, strip our skins
so we can be truly naked.

take me now, while we're dancing.
you choose the music
while i play something
sexy and evil.
within this skin
lie the secrets of the visceral. 
i drag them out
and lay them at your table.

take me here, where the mercies
that you seek must be fought for,
muscles must melt and
beasts must bay at the moon
before this is finished.
it is an irresponsible sky 
that watches over 
our dark acts.

take me to the brink as
the whole darkness 
consumes us.
sink your talons deep
into my breast, for my
sweet meats lie within.
show no sorrow,
plunge deep to scoff 
upon my entrails
before the palsy happens.

take me to the point where
i am tipping.
wicked is the sin that trips us 
when all i feel is
st. vitus dancing
up my spine and our loins 
explode with truth serum
to leave us dripping 
with significance.

Saturday, 2 September 2017

this is a story about a balloon.

(ziggy stardust, david bowie album tribute gig 6/8/17)

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music 
i was sure had been written for me.

i camp out in car parks, in weather, in band shirts, in tight jeans, in sleeping bags and in fan packs, flicking off spiders and jonesing for a glimpse of you.

i lie awake dreaming that perhaps maybe someday we will actually, realistically meet. i mean literally, in the flesh. and if that did happen finally, hopefully. maybe i'd say something funny, something funny enough to flick the switch on the beer light and your sweet, sweet hands will get to know me down to the bones.

i hang out with girlfriends, your songs on repeat, riffs rewinding endlessly, endlessly. (can you hear me major tom)? we we do each other's make up to look just like you then we make up scenarios about you and me and you and her and you and me and her.

we draw pictures in our school books then on rainy nights and full moons carve your name in my arm with a compass so you will never leave me. we'd mix our blood with poster paint to plaster on tshirts and in our bedrooms we'd dance and dance and dance, your image on my walls watching over us like a saint. we'd use you for kissing practice as ziggy jammed with the jean genie and our mothers didn't understand any of it.

we were mesmerized, screwed,
we were licked, we were hanging.

there is only one light.

and when i am actually, physically with you, when i'm there in the stadium, when i am one with the masses i push you and i push you and i scream out your name in you thin white face and i'm insane at how insane your music makes me it's like your guitar is jacking my brain.

we never saw it coming.

red mist and red wrists
you took me to mars,
covered in a stardust blanket
i would follow you anywhere.

i see you with elvis at the 7/11
hear your voice from beyond as i walk the aisles.
ziggy lives! i tell myself
as i drop out to music
i was sure had been written
just for me.

Monday, 28 August 2017

is it any wonder?

(fame, david bowie tribute gig 6/8/17)

i'm busy using gold to pass the time
find a penny, find the line
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

can't see the trees but the forest is near
do you remember the time we were clear?
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

if it quacks like a duck then follow it
if it smells like paradise follow it
gotta get a raincheck on pain. 

i fly like a kite so i don't pay the fees
of my rock star responsibilities 
i'm busy using gold to pass the time. 

what i need is in your face
what i get is worth the chase
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

sipping cocktails in a land called fame
the pyros fire up in hollow lane
i'm busy using gold to pass the time
gotta get a raincheck on pain.

only the good.

it was a very poetic moment
as she raised the frying pan
above her head, 
bared her teeth
and swung balletic with 
such momentum
he could swear this time
she would actually, finally
take flight.

it was a familiar dance, 
where he would read
a thousand nightmares
in her eyes while
she spewed profanities
and lashed out at the world, 
a screaming banchee.
in a theatre of war 
she would have been a major general.

the battle, he knew
was inside her head,
private, not for him to fight. 

so he retrieves her
tiny frame from the floor,
plants kisses on her forehead 
and tells her the only war cry he knows.
"only the good die young baby".
and hopes like hell
that it isn't true.

Sunday, 11 June 2017

ripped off #10 (crazy - willy nelson)


i'm crazy for trying,
trying to negotiate an 
adult relationship
in the face of such
childish behaviour. 
i can take the wandering songs,
but not the molasses.

i'm crazy for trying to
make a connection
that can wrap us in answers
to all the hard questions, 
so that it lasts more than
one month
one week
one night.

i'm crazy for trying to
show you my ever lovin' heart,
to be your rock
when all you wanted
was to roll on down the road
to places and people unknown.

i'm crazy,
crazy for thinking
these blues are gunna lift
when you walk into view,
because the bass beat you carry
has a black dog numbness
about it,
about you,

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

yeah we all felt good.

(me & bobby mcgee janis joplin tribute gig 2016)

following the circus of dirty romance
young, raw and free
we would shoot through highway veins
and live the black tar lifestyle
where far away is never far enough. 

hell bent and holding distance in our hands 
we owned nothing but my harpoon 
and bobby's song.
with nothing left to lose we were doing something,  
we were moving. 
we both played hard till
bobby got the blues so bad
the only way out was to sing it.

we sought the road like drugs,
like bad advice. 
holding hands and killing time
it wasn't til we found a ride
that bobby really shone.
yeah we all felt good when 
bobby sang the blues.

celebrating our victories
at truck stop diners
from st louis to cedar city 
we'd strip our skins in parking lots
beside the road that keeps on glinting. 
then as the skies opened up
we were pushing anything
to bring comfort to the pain.

but i kept getting nasty
as we headed down the line, 
chasing a hit that wasn't there.
we thought we were free, but
we were slaves to each other, 
and love, and the byways. 
then when bobby couldn't take it
the road took bobby away
leaving me chasing the horizon
in a pursuit that never ends.  

yeah, we all felt good when 
bobby sang the blues. 

still, on cold, wet nights i pull out my bandana,
kiss my harp and call out bobby's name.

yeah we all felt good when bobby sang the blues.

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

ripped off #9 (everybody's got something to hide except me & my monkey - the beatles)

everybody's tripping my footsteps,
got something leading to
something slippery, jittery, glittery 
to kill my vibe.
hide me from the darkness 
except when it takes
me out of the chaos
and when that happens 
my suitcase will pack itself and my
monkey and i are out of here.

Sunday, 21 May 2017

ripped off #8 (jungle love - steve miller band)

i love you for your crazy love
your mad crazy love
i love you mad crazy 
crazy love crazy love. 
i make you wait to
make you crazy
crazy love. 
peaches and cream your love
with peaches and cream love
love creamandpeacheslove
making you crazy 
pouring with rain
making me wet your love
your love pours
pouring like your questions
your attention questions
mad with rain and crazy,
crazy love. 

Friday, 19 May 2017

ripped off #7 (monkey in your soul - steely dan)

you'll be back.

i hear you snoring in the next room. 
you love falling asleep on the couch
hate waking with dagger in the neck neck.

you roar even before you open your eyes. 
you love being primal
hate the way your instincts make you feel. 

i hold all the assets.
you love that i'm responsible 
hate that you can't take responsibility.

i see you through the studio window. 
you love when i watch
hate you have to fight for any attention. 

you storm out at the scent of an argument.
you love the crazy in me
hate that you can't control the monkey in my soul. 

Sunday, 14 May 2017

ripped off #6 (canary in a coalmine - the police)

i am your canary in a coal mine.
you send me deep,
into the dark recesses
of your consciousness. 
clumsily, hopelessly i stumble, 
and in one sentence
i am caged, ready
to go underground.

it's like you need me there
to keep you safe
when you think about the demons,
to remember the battles,
you watch my face
to know when you are
digging too deep. 

then when we can't hold
our breath any longer
you pull me up
press your lips to mine
to forget the 
subterranean nightmare.
you can't go there unguarded 
so i am the canary in your coalmine.

Tuesday, 9 May 2017

ripped off #5 (hide your love away - the beatles)


out on the tundra 
under pressure,
especially the staring,
daring citizens with
good intentions
mention i should just
"shut the fuck up"
so i keep walking.

from a distance
mist precedes your arrival. 
i dry my face
and trace the path 
to your door.
you say
"shut the fuck up."
and i keep walking.

seems so easy
sleazy people bounce
from room to room
from bed to bed. 
i can't abide
those kinds so i
shut the fuck up
and hide.

Sunday, 7 May 2017

ripped off #4 (december - collective soul)


there's a word for the surge that you give me
when i'm looking for a very mellow drama
while december whispers of treachery.

incantations put us both in jeopardy 
take the curtains from the windows for now
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

i'm caught in the thrawl of heavy delicacies
don't let the blindfold slip baby
while december whispers of treachery. 

your fingers have their own blessed memory
strip my skin so i can be truly naked
there's a word for the surge that you give me. 

now be bold and prepare the weaponry
a soldier rarely multitasks
while december whispers of treachery.

fear of the future has it's hooks in me
so explode with me while there's still time
there's a word for the surge that you give me
while december whispers of treachery. 

Sunday, 30 April 2017

ripped off #3 (i wish i was your mother - mott the hopple)

playtime is over.

pretending the motions
of a happy ending
i come up short.

we can't live on wishes
or second rate love songs,
the rabbit hole calls me.

and it doesn't matter
how many secret altars 
i build
i'll never get far
without crossing a few

playtime is over,
the drawbridge is up. 

ripped off #2 (badlands - bruce springsteen)


the clay that i am made of
crumbles back into the landscape.
it's gully dry
and sunset will surely catch me,
wrap me in a blanket 
of badlands hospitality.

this mother nature's cradle
is full of nettles and shale
but my boots keep moving,
through the badlands
through the undergrowth 
which is the only growth 
around these parts.

this glorious colour pallette 
ain't gunna save me
when every road i walk on
keeps crumbling into dust.
i blend with the canyons
as distant mesas forshadow
the way through the badlands
and it ain't no sin to be glad to be alive.

Monday, 24 April 2017

ripped off #1 (film noir - gaslight anthem)


i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
dancing around, a true fool in the night
until we consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

one note to burn, ripped from my broken heart
i'm leaving and i ain't coming back
cos you lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

i take the burning roadside,
drive circles round the blazing life i had
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

no one's gunna tell you, no one's gunna say
the bricks you hit will sometimes knock you down
but i lit a fire that wouldn't go out.

and we're all travelling down the same damn line
building from the ashes then sparking the match again
until it consumes the walls and roof of your house.

there's a dirty music soundtrack on the long and open road,
it's left me bloody, but i keep on rolling on
cos i lit a fire that wouldn't go out
until it consumed the walls and roof of this house. 

Sunday, 22 November 2015


(what do you do for money honey? ac/dc tribute gig, 24-11-15)

you see me riding round in cars
and hanging out in bars
i'll sell it wherever there's a dollar.
i dress in leathers red
in the car or on a bed
i'll suck your money clean right off the dresser.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

you think i'm at your command
and the deeds that you demand
are taking pieces of my very soul,
but i can tell you honey
once i got your money
everything i touch round here is gold.
so you can wonder all you like
if it keeps you up all night
i don't care, that's just more chance you'll come find me.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys that cum.

there's no mystery to this bitch
i'm gunna strike it rich
from schoolboy punks to beaks with big fat wallets.
from up here the view is fine,
close the doors and pour the wine
i'm the business, the pushing, shoving,
          grabbing, stabbing, kneeling, taking business.

as for my kicks
and my dirty, dirty licks... 
my mother said to get things done
you gotta do business with guys who cum.
my mother said to get things done
you gotta earn your money from guys with cum.

the wuthering

(wuthering heights, kate bush tribute gig 20-8-15)

there is a forever that lies in destiny,
a cold temper.
i have been here forever, wiley, windy.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

i am the sound of your childhood,
a sonata for sleepless nights
weaving a semi incestuous tale
set in a dark, dank world
lit with candles and desire.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home)  

i let the sunshine come
but softly, and sometimes, 
and then i bring the wuthering
to rip through your guts
like the slice of the knife
and you just cannot seem
to find your way home.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

windows keep you from each other
but not from the nightmares,
bad dream madness that reduces 
you to capes in the night.
and only the earth can put it right 
only death can unite this unholy coupling.
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home) 

you think that love is noble
but i am black crow sick.
i am the tempest, hot and greedy,
and it is a poisoned morning
that makes me take you,
ripping across your trembles and sighs
to make them wrack every damn window.

                (heathcliff, cathy, come home)

i can give you moments, 
but not years,
i can give you forever, 
but not now.
love will lift you up
but the devil drags you 
down to me. 
                (heathcliff, cathy, come home)